


The Boys Who Didn't Fly

by tameimpala



Series: Crossfire [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s01e18 Something Wicked, Episode: s05e16 Dark Side of the Moon, Flagstaff, Flashbacks, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt Dean Winchester, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Other, Past Child Abuse, Pre-Series, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Sam Leaves for Stanford, Season/Series 05, Stanford Era, Teen Winchesters, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester, multiple flashbacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 04:34:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3596544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tameimpala/pseuds/tameimpala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <br/>
    <i>“That road outside that you've been taking home forever,</i>
    <br/>
  </p>
</div><div class="center">
  <p>    <i>That'll be same road that I'll take when I depart”</i><br/></p>
</div> <br/>Following their return from heaven, the scars of past memories that Dean was sure he'd kept hidden from Sam are finally laid bare.<p> <span class="small">Takes place after <b>S05E17 Dark Side of the Moon</b> with flashbacks to <b>S01E18 Something Wicked</b>, Flagstaff, Sam leaving for collage and the Stanford-Era.</span></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rollin' River of Truth, can you spare me a sip?

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this due of my endless fascination with pre-series stories of Sam and Dean’s childhood, my love for filling in blanks. John’s characterization is something I change quite a lot depending on what I’m writing, I can see both of his characterizations in the fandom being justified. Normally I tend to paint him in a neutral light, I’m afraid in this one he is physically abusive (and probably psychologically- but when isn't he) towards Dean.
> 
> So **WARNING: ABUSIVE JOHN WINCHESTER**
> 
> Also as it's never stated when Sam ran away in Flagstaff, I had to just guess. I thought under twelve was a bit too young and over sixteen was too old really- so my estimation is he was thirteen, around March 1996?
> 
> The title and chapter titles are taken from [ Playing With Fire by Brandon Flowers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xtI2gDuGOjg)\- a song that I've always felt fits both Sam and Dean perfectly, especially when you listen to the lyrics.
> 
> Okay, long intro over!

* * * * * * *

  


** Flagstaff, Arizona 1996 **

_ 49… 50 …. 51…. 52… 53… _

_He waited in the rundown motel room, counting every rattle of the ancient storage heater in the corner of the room which had drove Sam nuts. But his brother wasn’t here now. He hadn’t seen him in five days._

_Sam had disappeared on Sunday night. Dean had hoped against hope that he would be able to find him quickly but when all his efforts ended up fruitless, he knew he had to call his father._

_The cell phone was still grasped in his clammy shaking hand. It had took him all day to pluck up the courage to call John and he’d been so nervous that he was sure he was going to throw up before he even dared to utter a single syllable. After Dean had managed to spew out the gabbled words “Sammy’sgonemissing” his father surprisingly hadn’t said much, which made alarm bells ring in the 17 year old's head. After a 10 second pause which seemed to drag on for an eternity he’d told Dean in a low monotone voice that he would be back in 4 hours, and that he wasn’t to leave the motel room till he returned. Dean had choked out a feeble "Yes Sir" more out of a conditioned reflex than anything else._

_He was up to 164 rattles from the storage heater when John Winchester finally walked into the room._

_Dean leapt to his feet, anxiety and dread crashing around him like waves. Without sparing a single glance towards the only son who was present, his father simply walked to the table and deposited his duffle bag down onto its scratched mahogany surface, like he always did when he returned from a hunt. However this time he stayed perfectly still for a moment. Dean could feel the anger radiating off him even from the other side of the room. John was grasping the edge of the table, his knuckles going white, with his head bowed. He was shaking ever so slightly…_

_Then it happened._

_John was suddenly in front of him and Dean was slammed against the nearest wall with such force that the breath he didn’t know he was holding flew out of him. His father’s forearm was pressed against his chest and there was a rage in his eyes that he hadn’t caught a glimpse of since Fort Douglas._

_“When did you last see him?” John snarled._

_“S-S-Sunday n-night sir- must have s-snuck out whilst I w-was asleep...” Dean wheezed in reply._

_“SUNDAY NIGHT?” Hands grasped his collar and shook him like a doll, “THAT WAS FIVE. FUCKING. DAYS AGO!”_

_Dean tried in vain to pull away from his father, “I know I thought I could track him down before you came back I’m sorr-”_

_His apologies died in his mouth as John threw Dean away from him in disgust. He landed on top of the already unstable coffee table, which shattered beneath him. Raising his head faintly he saw John heading for him again and was ashamed to put hands out protectively to shield himself from his own father. John easily grabbed the front of his shirt and dragged him to his feet again._

_“Asleep!?” He shouted into his eldest's face, “You slept through Sam..._ **Sam!?** _leaving the room?"_

_John looked down and swore under his breath. After a few moments he returned his resentful glare back onto Dean, his voice now a low furious whisper, "Why the hell did I ever think that you could turn out to be a half decent hunter? You can’t even stop your much smaller- and younger!-_ 13 year-old brother _from running away! Fucking useless… I should have known, ever since that Shriga…”_

_“Dad please, we have to find him…” Dean pleaded, cutting across the older hunter’s bitter words._

_“You’re not going anywhere,” Replied John in a seething tone, “I’ll find Sam. If he’s not dead already.”_

_This time Dean saw red. He pushed John away from him with such force that his father nearly tripped over the debris of the broken coffee table._

_“Don’t you dare say that!” He spat at John venomously._

_Before Dean even realized what he had done he felt the impact of fist on jaw and went sprawling backwards. However this time John caught him before he could fall to the ground and instead used the momentum to pummel Dean’s stomach, in addition to throwing in two more punches into his face just for good measure. Dean’s vision was clouding and a steady stream of crimson was leaking from his nose, the familiar taste of copper burnt his throat. John grabbed his son’s drooping head and Dean was forced to look into the fear and fury of his eyes._

_“If he is,” John breathed, “I’ll know who to blame.”_

  


****

****

  


The cold silence in the Impala chilled Sam to the bone. He glanced at his brother and couldn’t help but look down at his chest to where the amulet usually lay. Its absence made Dean look incomplete, like he was missing a limb. Right now the necklace was lying in a trash can in that lifeless generic motel room and it had taken every last shred of ebbing strength that Sam had left to not breakdown at the sight of his brother throwing it away with sick resignation, like it had never been anything but a dead weight around his neck. 

Maybe the next guest would spot a glint of gold in between the scrunched up paper, candy wrappers and Dean's discount beer cans, and fish out the almost twenty year old amulet (well, twenty years since had given it to Dean... he had no clue how old it really was). Surprisingly this scenario wasn't very comforting to Sam, the thought of any other person besides Dean wearing the charm created a burning sensation somewhere in his chest. Nevertheless, imagining a stranger rescuing the amulet was still a hell of a lot better than the very probable reality that some maid would come along and carelessly empty the trash can into the dumpsters out back. Perhaps it had already happened. 

In the end Dean knew how much leaving the amulet hurt Sam, just like Sam knew how much his ' ~~heaven~~ ’ had hurt Dean. 

But that wasn't his heaven, not if he had any say in it, and he needed Dean to know that. What Sam also needed to know, maybe even more than correcting Dean's assumptions about his so-called- _paradise_ , was exactly what his brother was going to say after _“...when dad got home…”_. He’s not entirely sure he wants to, except he can’t get the image of Dean’s traumatized face out of his head.

“We need gas.” Dean cut through the silence so abruptly that Sam almost jumped out of his skin.

“I think I saw a sign for a gas station in a couple of miles.” Replied Sam, quickly regaining his composure.

“We need it now- Or baby’s not going to last much longer.” Dean said as he tapped the fuel gage to prove his point, the pointer was nearly at 0. 

Sam’s composure went out the window.

“What the hell Dean? You never let the gas get this low! You barely let it go under half a tank!”

“Well I had a lot on my mind I guess.” Muttered Dean.

“Great, just fucking great. We’re going to get stranded out here, I haven’t seen another pair of headlights in half an hour so-“

“God, would you calm down? I’ve got fuel in the trunk for emergencies.” Dean violently pulled over to the side of the road and when they came to a stop he made a point of turning his head to the passenger seat in order to glare at Sam, “I’m not completely useless you know.” He deadpanned, but hurt and annoyance still bled through. 

Sam dragged a weary hand across his face in response, “Dean that’s not...”

But Sam’s reassurance was never heard as his brother promptly got out of the car and slammed the door on him.

The droplets that had steadily littered the wind shield were starting to get heavier and faster, a downpour was imminent. Sam sighed heavily and climbed out of the Impala to follow Dean.

The trunk was already open and Dean was rummaging through it like a madman. Sam stood out of eye shot, waiting for the towel to be thrown in. Sure enough though, his brother wasn’t admitting defeat.

“It was here,” Dean murmured to himself, he was a little startled when Sam moved into his line of sight.

“Dean I can’t remember there being a fuel canister in there in years...” Said Sam tentatively. 

“No it was definitely there.” He replied coldly, shutting the trunk.

“Well maybe you got rid of it.” Retorted Sam as Dean started to walk towards the door, “You’ve been doing that a lot lately.”

As soon as he said it he regretted it. The look on the older hunter’s face was awful, guilt and sadness were written all over it. However it was gone in a second and replaced with a sardonic smirk.

“Wow, that’s bitchy even for you.”

Dean retreated back into the Impala and Sam did the same.

“I didn’t…”

“Cut the crap Sam, we both know what you meant.” Said Dean with a hint of underlining shame, “Let’s just try and find a gas station, okay?”

He turned the ignition but instead of the familiar roar of life that the gas guzzler usually gave out, there came a splutter. 

After several tries one thing became apparent. The car wasn't going to start. 

“Well they say things come in three’s don’t they?" Despaired Dean as he buried his face into the steering wheel. "It just keeps getting worse and worse...”

“It’ll be fine, we’ll just stay here for the night till it gets light out and stops raining, then we’ll try to get someone to pull over.” Sam reassured him, trying to be positive for once, maybe to make up for his harsh remark.

Dean just let out a groan and lifted his head. Sam only just noticed how exhausted he looked... And it was not the kind of tired that sleeping could fix.

He sighed heavily. Well, at least he had his brother cornered. Now was the time to straighten things out and above all else, get the truth.

“Dean we need to talk.”

“Oh great, why do you have to turn everything into a friggin’ heart to heart?” Whined his brother in return.

“Because normal people talk things out, you can’t keep everything bottled up Dean. It’s not healthy.” Said Sam exasperatedly 

“Bet you planned this, bet it was you who got rid of the extra fuel so we could get stranded somewhere and sit around painting our nails and braiding your hair whilst we talk about our feelings.” Grumbled Dean as he turned his head to glare moodily out of his rain-drop encrusted window.

“Quit messing around," _Why does everything need to be a joke with you?_ His brother's whole emotional-defection spiel was starting to wear really thin on Sam. "Look, I know what our trip to heaven did to you, and what Joseph said really affected you- badly.”

“Shut up Sam.” Dean was still looking out of the window, his eyes following the occasional tracks of rain.

“No I won’t, ‘cause you need to hear it- you need to hear it from me..” Replied Sam.

“Hear what?” Dean spat back harshly as he finally turned to face his younger brother. 

Sam looked down to avoid Dean's angry gaze and continued.

“That wasn’t my heaven. Okay I’ll admit that to me some of them were good memories- maybe for the wrong reasons, but Dean… Couldn’t you see? The angel’s were manipulating it. I think Zachariah or whoever controlled it- only showed memories that they knew would hurt you to, I don’t know… Turn you against me or something. And I think it’s working,”

“Sammy…” His natural instinct of consoling Sam rebooted and Dean's face softened.

“No listen Dean, it wouldn’t be my heaven without you in it. And that’s the truth.” Sam kept his eyes on his knees, not wanting to look at his brother as he thought that stealing a glance would prevent him from asking what he needed to ask. “Anyway that’s beside the point, I just wanted to get that straight.”

“Why, you got a few more home truths up your sleeve?”

“Dean…" Sam sighed out with his usual fond exasperation that was reserved for his brother. He finally looked up into green eyes that despite their shimmering bravado, couldn't hide the pain and fear inside. "What happened?” He asked in a small voice.

The older hunter looked confused, "What do you mean what happened?"

"I mean Flagstaff. What happened when Dad came home?"

  


* * * * * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I know, I am sorry for evil John beating up Dean (wish I could say it'll be the only time)- but it's heavily implied in _Darkside of the Moon_ that something like that must have happened
> 
> Also I had to address Sam's heaven, I've never been happy with Sam's heaven memories and I remain convinced to this day that it was all manipulated, there's no way they'd be no memories of Dean so I'm blaming the angels.


	2. These things won't compromise the will of the design.

* * * * * *

  


“Look Sam…”

“Please, will you just tell me the truth? Just once.” He looked pleadingly at his brother. There was not enough hours in the day to explain how sick to death Sam was of all the cover-ups and lies both Dean and their father had told him in the name of his _‘protection’_. He deserved to know. 

Dean sighed and dropped his hands in resignation, “What do you remember?”

Sam didn’t have any trouble recalling that night, or the resulting weeks and months of avoidance and awkwardness that stretched between the three of them.… 

“I remember Dad being pissed as hell when he finally found me. And he told me you were staying at Pastor Jim’s, which I thought was strange because Bobby’s was a little closer.”

A bitter laugh resounded from Dean’s mouth, “Yeah he tried that, didn’t go down too well with Bobby.”

“Why not?” Sam asled.

“Because he wasn’t that pleased with Dad dumping me on his doorstep with a black eye and a busted nose that’s why.” Replied Dean with a sad smile on his face, "Dad tried to play it off like a monster had done it, but he knew. I had to pull Dad back into the car before Bobby could start shooting at him.”

“God…” The word came out in a stunned exhale of breath as Sam visibly blanched at his brothers sudden bluntness

“Don’t look so surprised Sammy, I’d had worse.” Dean responded darkly, almost as if that remark would reassure him. Instead it made Sam’s blood run even colder.

“What? You had worse beatings from him?”

“Don’t call them beatings." Muttered Dean, looking away.

“Oh, sorry Dean what would you _prefer_ me to call them? Some kind of fucked up _lesson_? Discipline? _Punishments?_ Because that’s bullshit and you know it. You didn’t need to be punished for something that I did, if anyone deserved it- it was me!” Sam railed at his brother, he had kept his eyes locked on Dean throughout his tirade and at the suggestion that Sam would have deserved it more than him Dean returned the younger man's stare.

“I would have never let that happen Sam.” He stated unflinchingly with a deadpan expression.

Frustration built in Sam’s stomach and his anger towards John Winchester was increasing tenfold, “But there should have been someone protecting you! And that someone should have been our father, he sure as hell shouldn’t have been the one hurting you! You were a kid Dean, you were just a fucking kid.”

“I was never a kid Sam. Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t worry about it?” Repeated Sam incredulously, “If I’d have known, if you’d have told me…”

“There was nothing to tell.” He sighed.

“But he never laid a hand on me, not even during the fight before I left- though I know he sure as hell wanted to. If you hadn’t gotten between us…” Cogs started to turn in Sam's brain... With no one for his brother to protect and knowing his father, there had to have been some serious anger management and questionable coping strategies (all of which included alcohol) to deal with, Sam was now pretty sure that the first few months without him couldn't have been good.

“Dean, when I was gone…”

A dark shadow crossed Dean’s face, Sam knew he was severely pushing his luck so he let his words hang heavily in the air. He didn’t want to break the new silence that stretched across them, but they had to say something and he knew his brother wouldn’t budge. 

“I got a voicemail you know, when I was at Stanford… from Bobby, saying I should check on you." Sam said softly, he could see Dean take a small sharp inwards breath, "I should have replied, but I couldn’t get rid of Dad’s voice ringing in my head… If I was gone I should stay gone, right?”

“Don't quote that bullshit to me.” Retorted Dean tersely. Sam just ignored him.

“That was 3 months after I left, and I got two more. Bobby must have realized I wasn’t going to respond though and stopped calling… You have no idea how bad it felt, how much I wanted to speak to all of you.”

“Why feel guilty?” Questioned Dean abruptly, “You didn't then. Hell, I’m not sure if you do now- considering the day you left us was featured, pride of place, in your heaven.”

“Didn’t I just tell you that wasn’t my idea of heaven?” Spat back Sam, but the anger was soon gone again, “Dean, I wanted to speak to you- but Dad…”

“God, are you ever going to stop using him as a scapegoat? Dad’s been gone for 4 years and you still blame him for everything!” Interrupted Dean.

“Oh you want to spin this around on me? When are you going to stop defending him then, Dean? Is all that brain-washed _‘training’_ he gave you that deep-seated? Even after everything he did to you?” Sam countered viciously. 

He expected a fist to go flying into his face after he blurted out _those_ home truths, but what happened was much worse. Dean simply sunk in his seat, looking equal parts exhausted and defeated.

“Sam please.” Said the older hunter in a barely audible voice.

“Bobby’s messages, they were every time he found you right?” Sam asked quietly. He could tell Dean really didn’t want this conversation, that it was draining him mentally and psychically, but he needed to know.

“Sam…”

“ _Weren’t they?_ ”

Dean’s eyes found Sam’s and looked into them solemnly. The younger man saw an emptiness in his brother’s usually sparkling green eyes that chilled him to the core.

When he spoke, Dean’s voice trembled at the edges.

“He didn’t find me, I always went to him”

  


###### 

  


**Garretson, South Dakota 2001**

_As Dean walked towards the motel room he heard someone talking inside. He really hoped his father wasn’t pulling in any help on this case, around 90% of the hunters John knew were complete psychopaths, and he just couldn’t be bothered dealing with them tonight. Not when he’d spent most of the night hustling pool in one of the seediest bars he’d ever been to._

_It was 3 am and he had figured his Dad would either be asleep or just simply not there. Ordinarily Dean would have hurried back to the motel for Sammy. But Sam had been gone for around about three or four months. _Which one was it?_ Honestly he wasn’t exactly sure... All the days seemed to blend into one now. His father could barely look at him let alone speak to him, and the only time he did that was when he was drinking. It was like being his 4 year old self all over again._

_After opening the door a crack, the overwhelming smell of alcohol hit him hard. Dean froze as his hand hesitated on the door handle, his dad had been drinking a lot recently- and it was best to stay out of his way. But by the sound and smell of things, he was definitely in a bad state. So he entered the room._

_The first thing he saw was John pacing the floor, a beer in his hand. Three bottles of spirits were littered across the ground along with some cheap half empty whiskey which was slowly leaking into the auburn carpet._

_He was muttering to himself with indecipherable rapidity. Dean couldn’t quite catch what he was saying, but he could make out some fragmented things such as _“Sammy...”_ , _“ left me too”_ and _“Not coming back”_._

_“D-Dad?” Called Dean from the doorway, almost transfixed by the stranger wearing his father’s body._

_John’s head whipped around like a pistol and he raised his arm, beer bottle still clutched tightly in his hand. When the recognition seemed to seep in he started to shuffle towards his scared son, arms outstretched._

_“Dean… you came b-back?” He slurred, pure amazement and shock was written all over his face._

_“What? Yeah, of course I did...” Replied Dean as his father approached him._

_Then suddenly with no warning at all, John’s hand flew up and brought the beer bottle crashing down onto Dean’s face. The younger hunter fell to the floor, pain and blood erupting in his head- the only thing he had been able to do out of instinct was move his head down so that John wouldn’t hit his face. His vision was blurring but he could just about make out John’s shape in front of him._

_“Not Dean. He’s gone too, left me just like Sammy… And Mary...”_

_“Dad I’m right here, I’m right here!!” Dean shouted through the heavy fog that clouded his vision._

_“Some kind of shifter son of a bitch, not my Dean.” He heard his father say with bone chilling conviction, his voice coming from further away._

_Dean rubbed his eyes to try and see straight, when he pulled his hands away he registered the smudged crimson on them. Blood was obviously running freely down his face from the wound caused by the bottle, and it stung like hell. But that wasn’t his main priority, his Dad was further away alright. He was drunkenly heading towards his duffel bag which contained half of his guns and knives._

_“Gotta put them down, put them all down...” John was mumbling as he moved. Dean grabbed the door handle for support and pulled himself up. His vision swam violently, but he had to get to his father before he could get his hands on a weapon._

_Due to his inebriated state it was pretty easy to catch up with him, even with Dean’s head injury. He got hold of his father and started to pull him back._

_“You bastard!” John exclaimed, and threw his head back violently to head-butt his son. Dean went reeling backwards but the older hunter caught him ( _just like in Flagstaff_ , Dean thought to himself humorlessly) and dragged him to the table where the duffle lay. _

_A fist went flying into his face followed by a knee to his stomach-_

_**(…If he is…. I’ll know who to blame…)** _

_Dean buckled and fell to the floor again._

_“You stay down you bastard!” Ordered John as he rummaged through his bag. The haze was receding so Dean looked up, the first thing he saw was a streak of silver heading for him. He caught his father’s forearm to stop him plunging a blade into his chest._

_“Dad, drop it! It’s me… it’s Dean…” He ground out as he held on desperately to John’s arm._

_“Liar.” John hissed, not even looking at the son he was trying desperately to kill, his eyes were on the knife as if willing it to move against Dean’s hand, “He’s gone, gone with his brother…”_

_Dean twisted his father’s hand quickly, causing John to let out a whimper of pain and drop the blade. The younger man darted down to pick it up and held the knife out protectively._

_“Watch me Dad, I’m not a shifter I promise,” Said Dean gently as he pulled up his sleeve and made a deep slow cut across his arm to prove it._

_Slowly a sense realization began to trickle into his father’s features._

_“Dean?” He croaked, tears budding in his eyes._

_It was safe now. Dean dropped the knife and went to John, who immediately collapsed into his son and clung to him painfully._

_“I thought you went away… left for good…” The hunter sobbed._

_“I know, it’s okay Dad.” He muttered into his father’s shoulder, comforting him like Dean had always done, for both John and Sam. Like his mother had done for him._

“It’ll all be okay.” 

_He pulled the older man up and walked him to his bed. All Dean had to do was let go and John fell onto the mattress with a dull thud. He pulled his dad’s boots off and turned him onto his side. Soft snores were already issuing from his mouth. Dean pulled off his own bed sheets and placed them lovingly over his sleeping father._

_He sat and watched him for a while, savouring the silence after that awful scuffle. The adrenaline had started to wear off and pain was replacing it quickly. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror on the closet opposite and nearly jumped. There was blood running from the top of his head and his nose- plus a bad bruise was blooming on his right eye._

_He looked down at he older hunter. There was no way he would be able to stitch Dean’s head, and in the morning John would probably act like nothing had happened at all. Like he always did._

 _In the following weeks after John eventually found Sam in Arizona, he would look right through Dean like he wasn’t even there. His existence was only acknowledged when John barked orders at him. When Sammy inevitably asked what happened to Dean’s face, the story that he had rubbed up some of the kids in Sam's grade wrongly whilst looking for him rolled freely from John’s tongue. And you had to hand it to him, it was perfect- Sam would feel guilty for being the reason Dean got hurt and Dean would be humiliated by the suggestion that a gang of 13 year old's beat him up. The perfect emotional blackmail. The lies were always so believable and solemn that Dean almost wanted believe them himself, after all it was a lot better than the alternative. But there was no one they would have to lie to this time._

_The pain was increasing. Dean knew for a fact they had no pills left to help him, John had seen to all their aspirin and Sam was the one who always replenished their med kit. He could stitch himself up. But he didn’t want to. He wanted someone to look after him for a change, was that too much to ask for?_

_Dean was going to go somewhere safe, God knows he needed it._

_He grabbed the motel notepad and scrawled a note for John when he woke up…_

  


  


**-At Bobby’s. Back soon.-**

__

  


  


* * * * * *

  



	3. Ten Thousand Demons hammer down with every Footstep

* * * * * *

**Palo Alto, California 2001**

_It was 6 am and his dorm room was silent. The rising sun cast a peachy glow through the window and onto the empty bed opposite him. Sam’s roommate had left 8 hours ago after trying to convince him to go to a house party with him, though Sam suspected that Scott had just invited him out of common courtesy. It wasn’t that Sam didn’t like him, it was just that they were nothing alike. Scott was studying psychology and Sam couldn’t shake the feeling that he kept on trying to psychoanalyse him. Plus he was also someone his dad would call a ‘classic civvy’; the only monsters he’d ever seen where on a movie screen. Basically Scott wouldn’t know a werewolf from a mailman till it clawed his guts out. Still, Sam doesn’t view himself as superior to him because of this- far from it actually. He wishes that he could have Scott’s innocence, he hates the fact that no matter how hard he tries to be normal, achieve his idealistic apple pie life, nothing will ever scrub away that knowledge that monsters… monsters are very real._

_Sam had laid awake since 4am after yet another bad dream had interrupted his sleep. This nightmare had included his brother, and it’d severely rattled Sam to the point where he had to take a Xanax to calm down, something he had been doing way too much of lately. In the dream he was following his sprinting brother through a dense forest. Dean kept calling for him to keep up as he darted through the trees. Sam tried to speed up but pace by pace Dean got further and further away till finally he was nowhere to be seen. He stopped running and called out the older hunter’s name into the abyss. Eventually, from what seemed like miles away, there came a bone-chilling scream in response. Sam ran towards it, heart hammering in his chest, and ended up falling over something much too soft to be a tree trunk. Slowly he turned to look at the mangled body of his older brother and Sam recoiled in terror._

_Dean’s tattered clothes where covered in blood and guts. Half of his handsome face was missing, leaving parts of skull exposed._

_A jet-black crow sat on his shoulder, picking at his left eye._

_It looked like Dean had been there for days. Despite this, his lifeless hand was still pointing towards Sam in a silent accusation. Whilst Sam looked on in horror, slowly his torn mouth formed three damning words…_

_**“Where were you?”.** _

_He had woken up in a cold sweat and two hours later he was still having trouble getting that stomach churning image out of his mind. But it was only a dream right? Besides all his dreams seemed to feature his family getting mauled in some way, nothing new. Sam thanked God that Scott wasn’t here, he would have had a field day._

_Considering he was already awake, Sam decided to make the most of his early start. Grabbing his wash bag he headed towards the shared bathroom at the end of the hall, figuring he’d have it all to himself._

_After taking a long peaceful shower Sam had stared to calm down, he took his time brushing his teeth and washing his face before returning to his room again. Checking his watch Sam noticed that he’d been in the shower for over 20 minutes, he hoped that he hadn’t ran off all the hot water, which had been known to happen. This place wasn’t exactly the Ritz. In fact he lived in the cheapest dorms he could find._

_Sam re-entered his room, only after he dumped his stuff back in his drawers did he spot the flickering light on his cellphone that had been left abandoned on the bed._

1 missed call.  
1 new voicemail.  


_He unlocked the phone, fully expecting the call to be from Scott along with a drunken voicemail. Instead he saw a different name, one he hadn’t thought about in months, one he’d forgotten he’d even saved in the phone._

_Bobby._

_A surge of panic rushed through Sam, why the hell was Bobby calling him. Had something happened to Dad or Dean? Or maybe both of them considering it was Bobby calling him? Sam eyed the Xanax box on his desk and exhaled slowly. With one shaking finger he pressed ‘ _play message_ ’ and waited through the cold robotic voice reciting the date and time Bobby Singer had decided to pick up a phone and call Sam Winchester._

_**“Hi erm Sam, it’s Bobby.”** Sam jumped a little at the sound of that whiskey soaked voice, suddenly he was sat on Bobby’s threadbare sofa next to Dean, being told that this ‘ _ain’t no summer camp_ ’… **“Guess I must’ve missed ya, well actually it’s early so scratch that, you’re probably just sleepin’. I hope schools going alright for you son, it’s been a hard adjustment,”** He paused for a second, **“ For all of you.”**_

_**“Listen Sam I know you’ve all said things you regret, an’ I know your daddy is as stubborn as a mule’s backside… Don’t get me wrong boy I don’t want you to come crawling back into this mess of a life, you got out… But you don’t have to cut everyone out Sam, not everyone.”** Bobby paused again and cleared his throat, **“Your brother’s here with me now, an’ he’d love to hear from you- even if he won’t admit it. Just.. Just give him a call Sam…”** There was something lurking underneath his words that Sam couldn’t quite put his finger on, **“Take care of yourself kid.”**_

_A high pitched beep signalled the end of the message. Sam stood with the phone clamped to his ear for several more seconds before he set it back down in the same crease of his bed that he’d absent-mindedly placed it on beforehand._

_This was the first time anyone had contacted him in 3 months. Sam had told himself he didn’t care, that he had moved on and was now part of a world that was normal and safe. However despite all of his own reassurances, underneath it all he knew that he’d left his family in a world that was anything but those two things. But that was their own choice…_

_14 minutes and a Xanax later, he dialled his brother’s cell._

_After 6 hollow rings Sam hung up._

The slow drizzle had turned into an all-out downpour. To Dean the heavy drops of rain created a comforting pattering on the impala’s roof. To Sam the sound made him feel like he was in a tin can, though he’d never say that to Dean, he’d take offence to his precious car being compared to something like that.

They’d sat in silence for an unknown amount of time after they had both told their respective stories. Sam had found it incredibly hard not to punch something after hearing Dean’s, he even wanted to shake his brother for the monotone unfeeling voice he’d told the story in. It was eerily similar to the way Dean had told him about the Shriga incident in Fort Douglas. To try and counteract the story, and maybe to subside some of Sam’s own guilt, he’d told Dean about Bobby’s first message and his attempt at calling him. _As if that made up for anything_ , Sam thought bitterly. 

He didn't mention the other two messages he'd received. The second one was a lot shorter and Bobby was a hell of a lot less calmer than the previous voicemail...

_"Sam I hope you get this. Come on it's been 7 months now, Dean's... Well he's missing you I can tell, a phone call would mean the world to him. Your Dad's been sending him out on hunts. Crazy ones. Just call your brother and talk some sense into him would ya?"_

Five months after that he got the last message, shorter still...

_"It's Bobby. Again. Thought you would have came back over the summer kid. Dean's here anyway, please call Sam. Help him out."_

He'd finally gave in after that one, unable to ignore the raw pain his appointed Uncle's voice. Sam did call Dean. But he had changed his cellphone.

After lingering on that memory for a while he once again broke the silence with a question he’d never asked his brother.

“Why’d you change your number Dean, about a year after I left?” The question rolled off Sam's tongue so quietly it almost blended in with the rhythmic tapping of the rain. But his brother didn't miss it, though he could have pretended to. 

Dean turned to look at Sam, his face unreadable undercover of the darkness in the car.

“Think I smashed my phone up on a hunt. You knew we changed cellphones frequently.” He replied with an air of growing exhaustion.

“Yeah, I did” Admitted Sam, “I just thought you might have kept one, just in case…”

“In case you decided to call?” Dean supplied, “You had Bobby’s number.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Dean, I really am.” Sam’s words came out more pleadingly than he had meant them to, the older hunter picked up on this and sighed heavily.

“No Sam I am. You shouldn’t feel guilty for all this crap, it happened and… And it’s over. None of us can take any of it back.”

“That doesn’t make any of it okay though!” Exclaimed Sam angrily, “Can you please stop being so passive about everything?”

He glared at his brother through the blackness, Dean just sat as still as a marble statue, watching the raindrops again.

“Don’t start this.” Sam warned, and that got Dean’s attention.

“Start what?” He asked, sounding genuinely confused.

“I can see it happening, you’re starting to give up- zoning out. And I can’t let you do it.”

Dean scoffed, “Come on Sam not again…”

“No, all this heaven crap. These bad memories. Everything Dad did. The… the amulet...” Sam tore that word out of his chest and couldn’t help but feel a little glimmer of victory in the way that Dean bowed his head a little at the mention of it, “I get it, you’re beaten down and tired. Don’t you think I am too?”

Again Dean didn’t reply. Instead he did something his younger brother was not expecting. 

Dean opened the door, exposing them to the heavy rain for a brief second, and got out of the car.

Sam immediately followed his brother into the night.

* * * * * *


	4. That does not mean that I will walk without a God

* * * * * *

  


Both of their eyes had become accustomed to the dark over the years. They say the freaks come out a night and they’re right. 

  


But so do the Winchesters.

  


Somehow darkness had actually become a comfort, for Dean at least. From the age of four he had stood watch over Sam whilst he slept. He could hardly believe that the child could close his eyes, embrace the pitch black, and turn it into carefree slumber whilst Dean dragged his eyes back and forth round the room, analyzing every threat... every entrance point... and longed for an absent father or a dead mother to wipe away the dark and bring in the light. He quickly let go of that hope. Soon he welcomed the night like an old friend. 

His father had told him to embrace his fears- let them become your armor and your drive. John had been terrified of losing what remained of his family and his armor had become twisted and sharp, it turned in on himself, making him lash out at said family ( _or at least, one member in particular_ ) in misguided grief-filled fits of rage. Dean forgave his Dad a long time ago, and he still kept his own armor polished and clean despite the fact that the body beneath was bruised and broken.

  


****

  


  


**Fort Douglas, Wisconsin 1989**

  


_He had been climbing the walls, Sam getting on his every nerve. Being so difficult and uncaring, being… Well, a kid. So, Dean had thought, he deserved to be one too._

_But karma came for him, like it always did. Karma in the form of a robed intruder sucking the life out of a sleeping Sammy._

_He picked up the shotgun and aimed. But hesitation set in, over riding the training, everything… He froze…_

_“GET OUTTA THE WAY!”_

_Dean dropped to the ground, the sound of bullets ricocheted round the room. Once it stopped it was instead filled with his father’s pleas of “Sammy”, Dean’s heart began to beat again as he heard Sam’s weary reply. He dropped the shotgun in relief and anxiously re-entered the room._

_“What happened?” John asked as soon as Dean was in his sight._

_“I just went out.” He admitted, knowing a lie would cause more trouble, “J-just for a second.”_

_“I told you not to leave this room. I told you not to let him out of your sight!” His father replied, his teeth gritted in anger whilst he held on to Sam like he was afraid he’d disappear. John turned his head away in shame, muttering comforts to his confused brother._

_Feeling like he was watching something he wasn’t a part of, Dean turned and left the room, but John’s voice rooted him to the spot._

_“Go pack your bags.” He said coldly._

_“W-what?” Replied Dean in disbelief. Had his father finally had enough? Was he being kicked out into the street?_

_“Pack your bags. We’re leaving in 5.”_

_Dean sagged slightly and grabbed onto the doorway for support. He quickly gathered everything in the small living space before his father could change his mind and packed the shotgun carefully at the bottom of the bag, silently hating himself for not being able to pull the trigger._

_All of his and Sam’s clothes where in the bedroom, precisely where he didn’t want to be. Before he could build up the courage to return however, John came out of the room with Sam in his arms and their duffel bag in the other. He followed his father silently and obediently to the car, fearing that he may still leave him behind._

_John placed Sam in the front seat whilst Dean looked on, feeling a knife twist in his stomach. Was this punishment? Or did his Dad not even trust him to be in the backseat with Sam? Either way John said nothing, no damning statement to Dean or even a quick backhand for his foolishness, he just got into the Impala and started the engine. Dean dived into the back seat, alone, before they could drive off._

_He never slept in the car, instead he watched Sam in the wing mirror for the whole three hours it took them to get to Pastor Jim's. Once they got there Jim was stood on his porch waiting for the small family of three, John handed him their bags and ran a hand through Sam’s hair._

_“I’ll be back as soon as I can. Keep an eye on him.” The hunter told the older man of God._

_Dean had been told that every time his father left to the point where he’d grown tired of it, but the one time those words weren’t addressed to him he realized just how much he’d screwed up. As John walked away without even so much as a backwards glance to his oldest son, Dean found himself digging his nails into the palms of his hands in an attempt not to cry._

_Pastor Jim seemed to take pity on Dean, giving him looks of sympathy that he knew he didn’t deserve. He tried to avoid the religious hunter, hating his pitying eyes as much as he had hated his father's enraged ones. So for the whole of the next day Dean simply followed Sam’s every move. He sat silently next to a giggling Sam whilst he watched Thundercats for the eighth time and didn’t touch his food as Sam greedily ate a home cooked meal which didn’t come out of a can or a packet for once. Dean watched his little brother read the children’s bible Jim had given him. The older boy stared at the gore-free images of bright angels and shepherds, knowing the real stories of blood, death and suffering dealt out by a wrathful God that this book had conveniently omitted. As Sam turned the page, Dean read the word that he was sure he would carry out his whole life._

__

  


No, I say to you: but unless you shall do **penance** , you shall all likewise perish.

__

  


  


_At 11pm John returned and dragged them away again. The Pastor pulled his father to one side before they left and muttered words that Dean couldn’t hear, though Jim glanced over at him with concern etched in his eyes. John simply shook him off, grabbed Dean’s arm roughly and pulled him to the car. Sam trotted along behind them, asking if he could ride upfront again._

_“In the back Sammy and no arguing.” John replied sternly, Sam pouted and climbed into the backseat with Dean who was happy not to be alone again. Even though Sam glared at him like it was his fault Dad wasn’t fussing over him like last night, he didn’t blame his brother for blaming him. It_ was _his fault. Despite this Dean started to breathe a little easier, Sammy had been placed back beside him and that seemed like something. A start at least._

_He found out just how wrong he was when they got to a motel and John started on the Whiskey._

_“By the time I got back, it was gone.” He said to a scared Dean who hadn't been allowed to get ready for bed. Sam slept calmly in their bedroom, oblivious as always. Like a child should be._

_“I’m sorry.” Dean mumbled to the floor, not knowing what else to say._

_His father laughed bitterly, “Sorry? You go out, leave your brother for dead, let that monster escape and you’re _sorry_?” John stood up, set the Whiskey bottle down (Dean noted that more than quarter of it was gone already) and walked towards his eldest son._

_“Sorry doesn’t cut it Dean.” His father growled, pushing him to the ground as easily as you would a rag doll._

_Dean stayed down._

  


_**Penance** he told himself._

_A steel capped boot drove into his stomach and knocked his lungs free of air._

_**You shall do Penance.** He curled up into himself as the pain flowered through his torso._

  


_Two minutes later Dean was pulled to his feet and into the bedroom. He caught sight of a sleeping Sam, his little arms clutching the pillow beside him._

_A chair was placed beneath him and Dean was pushed into it with brute force._

_Whiskey fumes emitted from his father’s breath and he tried not to turn away._

_“Don’t move from this spot, or you **will** be sorry.”_

  


_Dean sat on the chair, eyes glued to Sam for the whole night. John didn’t come back for three days. The next morning Sam had to pry Dean out of the wooden chair that had been appointed his watchtower._

  


_“Come on Dean, Thundercats is on!”_

  


_“Penance Sammy, I’m doing Penance.”_

  


****

  


  


The rain felt good on his skin, as if it was washing away all his poisoned memories that Sam had brought back to the surface. He jogged into the woods that loomed over the roadside, barely hearing his brother’s shouts, trying to run from everything and become part of the darkness, water and earth. Dean’s pace quickened, he was vaguely aware of a glow tracking him along with the concerned calls of his name, but he ran on. 

At this speed it became harder and harder for Dean to judge the distance of the trees in the waning night and eventually he collided with wood causing an explosion of pain to burst in his shoulder. Lost in the agony, he stumbled blindly over raised roots until his foot jammed underneath one, pulling his shoe free and sending Dean down a bank that he never saw. 

“DEAN!” Sam called as his brother’s figure fell out of sight. The dull light from his cell phone couldn’t illuminate that far ahead. 

He ran to the place where Dean had fell, noting the knot of tree roots at his feet. A size 10 boot was wedged in between a particularly high one and Sam bent down to pick it up as he stared down the bank beside him. The slope was rather steep but the drop wasn’t that high, Sam spotted a slightly moving shape in a heap at the bottom of the hill. 

“Dean??... You okay?” He shouted, knowing that Dean wouldn’t reply. Sam was terrified of his brother’s behaviour, and even more scared that he had drove Dean to this. 

He skidded down the hill as carefully as he could, the cellphone’s light providing little help. With a little beep it notified Sam that it was running out of battery. _Typical._ But he didn’t even care anymore, all he cared about was reaching his brother. 

Finally he got to a dazed Dean who was laying on his back, completely still.

“Sammy…” The word was said wistfully. It wasn’t quite a question, it was more of an invitation.

“Thank god. What the hell were you thinking?” Sam asked, lifting the phone to see if Dean had any visible injuries. Apart from the two shallow cuts on his head his brother seemed okay, however he was cradling his left shoulder. Sam put a tentative hand on it and Dean recoiled quickly, hissing in pain.

“Sorry! Sorry Dean. Come on, let’s get you up.” Said Sam as he scurried to Dean’s right side instead. A hand left his injured side and grabbed Sam’s soaking jacket.

“Lie down Sam, look at the stars...” Dean breathed, his eyes returning to the sky. Sam looked up too and noticed they were in a clearing, allowing the stars above them to be seen. They blazed fiercely in the fading night, undisturbed by all that was passing on the earth below them. 

The rain had begun to let up, only a few rogue raindrops landed on his face as he stared up. Sam sighed and returned his sight back onto his brother, who was smiling sadly at him.

“We were up there Sam. Up in the stars.” Dean’s face was dripping with rain, making it hard to tell if those few suspect streaks of water beneath his eyes where his own tears or not.

“Yeah, we were,” Sam replied hoarsely. He knew he had pushed and pushed for this, but seeing Dean open to all the damage he’d locked away for years frightened him more than he cared to admit, “But we’re here now Dean. And you need to stay here with me. I can’t… I can’t do this without you.”

Dean’s grip on his jacket got tighter as he choked out a sob. His soul was far too old for his 31 years on this wretched earth, too old for the torture, too old for the responsibilities and punishments their father had handed to him. Dean had endured so much that sometimes he felt he would implode into himself and cease to exist. The one thing that kept him going was crumbling in front of his eyes, and yet Sam was here, despite everything. Maybe in spite of everything. They had let each other down in so many ways… Pulled apart so many times. _We’re here now._

_(You and me. **We’ll** find it)_

His tear-rimmed eyes fell on the object clutched in his brother’s hand as if it were a newborn child.

“What’s that?” Dean asked.

Sam looked down at the item absentmindedly, “Oh, it’s your shoe. You lost it.”

A chuckle emitted from Dean’s lips. Suddenly he was laughing so much he was shaking, he rolled on his side as the laughter ripped through him. The deranged barks echoed around them, making birds flee their nests in a flap of wings. Sam knelt next to him with a horrified look on his face, wondering what the hell he was laughing about.

  


“Yeah,” He gasped out between the suffocating cackles that sent shooting pains down his dislocated shoulder.

  


“I’ve lost it alright.”

  


* * * * * *

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bible verse Dean reads is Luke 13:3
> 
> I love cute Sammy watching Thundercats in _1.18 Something Wicked_ , all kids have that one show they never get sick of and drive everyone crazy with, that's got to be Sam's- I had to mention it in the midst of all the horrible Dean hurt.


	5. I'm not here to know the things I cannot do

* * * * * * *

****  


**Beauford, Minnesota 2001**

_It was the house that had been the final straw for Sam. For 5 days now they had been squatting in a one bedroomed wreck of a house on the outskirts of town after the landlord at their apartment had discovered that contrary his father’s promises, John’s credit card in the name of_ ‘Doug Clifford’ _wasn’t going to pay out. Sam had to finish his last semester in a rotten dank building and to top it off both Dean and their father had been out on a hunt every night this week, leaving him behind with nothing to do but plan his escape._

_Every time they left he would fish out the white envelope that contained his freedom and clutch onto it tightly, as if it would dematerialize in front of his eyes if he let go. Of course he had considered just running away in the night, but he’d tried that once before, years ago, and it didn’t go well. Besides this time… This time they needed to know where he was going. And despite everything, a little ember of hope inside him that John’s parenting hadn’t stamped out yet yearned to hear that his father was actually proud._

_Their hunt had finished yesterday, both of them came in at 3 o’clock in the morning bloody and stinking of gun powder and rock salt. Dean had gotten an earful about not covering his back when he entered a room and Sam lay in his bed listening intently through the wooden slats of the ramshackle house. The only words he heard his brother say were_ ‘Yes sir’ _. Though Sam couldn’t see him he could clearly picture Dean stood there like a mannequin, letting the criticisms ricochet off him till he was eventually dismissed. Sure enough his brother finally came upstairs and collapsed on the bed next to him. Dean clutched the bedsheets tight in his fists and screwed up his eyes. He sounded like he was short of breath…_

_“You okay Dean?” He’d ask._

_“ ‘m fine.” He’d reply._

_Same old same old._

_Not tonight though, tonight they weren’t on a hunt, they were here. And things were going to change, for better or worse…_

_Sam gathered up the rest of his things and set his bags down beside his bed. With a deep breath he pulled the crisp white letter out of his school bag and walked down the stairs to his fate._

_His father was sat at the table, scribbling in his journal like always- probably writing up their last hunt. Directly opposite him sat Dean, cleaning their guns with a few oily rags. Every now and then he glanced up at their father as if he was half expecting to be told he was doing something wrong, or maybe something right. Neither of them had noticed Sam coming down the stairs or the fact that he’s stood for a few minutes just watching them, silent and shaking slightly._

_Finally he shook himself out of his trance, Sam walked up to the table and placed the envelope down on top of John’s journal with a bit more force than he’d meant to._

_John jumped and whipped his head up to glare at Sam, “What the hell is this, can’t you see we’re busy?”_

_“Yeah well, something tells me you’ll make time for this.” Replied Sam nervously, his stomach felt like it was stuck in his throat._

_As their father cautiously opened the letter, Dean shifted in his seat. Sam traded a glance with him and saw the look in his eyes, the silent pleading there. He turned away quickly and returned his attention to John, who had finished reading the letter and carefully set it down on the table._

_“How’d you get this letter?” He said in a low but clear voice._

_“My English teacher Mrs. Dixon, she said I could use her address for the applications.”_

_“Applications?” John repeated it like it was a foreign word._

_“I got in Dad, look! I got into Stanford with a full ride!” Exclaimed Sam incredulously, unable to hide his happiness that he’d kept locked up along with that acceptance letter for two weeks._

_John stood up, his eyes still on the letter, and that voice was still stuck in its dangerous monotone, “You’re not going.”_

_“What are you talking about? Of course I am!” Sam protested._

_“Is this what you’ve been planning these last few months? Sneaking off to college!?”_

_“Last months? Try years. Try my whole life Dad! Trying to get out of this life!” Sam yelled into his father’s face. Dean had gotten up from the table too and hovered next to his warring family, feeling like a spare part as always._

_“This life is what’s kept you alive! You and countless others! Hunting is the only thing that has done that, if I’d have tried to play house with you boys in some other town we’d be dead. Now your brother and I, we need you…”_

_“Need me?” Sam laughed scathingly, “You barely ever let me out on hunts, Dean practically guards me 24/7 and I never even found out about monsters till I was 8 years old! I barely know a thing about my own mother, a woman who all of THIS!--“ He gestured wildly around the room and took a swipe at the dismantled guns on the table, sending slides and empty magazines to the floor, “- is supposed to be for! Do you think she would have wanted this for us?”_

_“It doesn’t matter what she would want Sam. She’s gone! And the thing that killed her is still out there!” Bellowed John. His hand flew up and pointed out the window, his eyes crazed, as if the monster was right outside the house._

_Dean watched on in disbelief, not sure of how this had all escalated so quickly. Both his brother and father looked possessed, John by fear and grief, Sam by anger and frustration. He supposed this fight had been a long time coming, but now it was here he didn’t know what to do or who to side with. Pretty soon they will reach an impasse and suddenly remember Dean exists, their official referee. They will ask him who do you choose? Who’s right in all this? He didn’t know who was, he never did. All Dean knew was that he was sick and tired of being a pawn in their constant battles._

_Dean tore himself from his thoughts as he watched Sam draw a breath that made his chest heave, as if he was preparing himself for his next attack._

_“It’s been 18 years Dad... You’re never going to find it. Even if you do you're right, Mom’s gone. You ruined our lives over someone I can’t even REMEMBER!" The words sounded wrenched from his throat._

_And they hit John like a round bullets._

_There was complete silence for ten whole seconds. In that time Sam swore he saw tears glisten in his father’s eyes, but rage and anger soon took over. John's hands shook violently as his eyes narrowed and he propelled his right arm at Sam's face. Dean saw it coming in a split second and shielded Sam, pushing him backwards._

_The punch fell short, just catching Dean’s shoulder lightly. Both his brother and father were still trying to get to each other but he held out both his hands to keep them apart._

_“You’re an ungrateful son of a bitch you know that?” Growled John as he tried to push Dean out of the way._

_“Am I supposed to be grateful you swung at me? Or should I be thankful that your little soldier saved me again?” Sam spat back. Dean let his hands drop and stared at his brother._

_“Sammy?” He said, completely hurt by Sam’s words. It always stung when the younger boy turned on him._

_“No Dean, who's side are you on? Behind his back you’re encouraging me- egging me on, and then you go and answer his every beck and call like a damn lapdog!”_

_“You put him up to this?” Asked John angrily, Dean suddenly wished they could go back to pretending he wasn’t there._

_“No Dad, I…” He was at loss, hating being put in the middle like always, “ Just please stop both of you!” Dean pleaded._

_“Do you think I’m just going to roll over and follow his orders for the rest of my life?” Questioned Sam, moving towards the stairs with every word, “No. No, I’m leaving and neither of you are stopping me.”_

_Sam ran up the stairs to grab his belongings. Dean went to follow but was met with resistance. Glancing down he realized his father had hold of his shirt. He turned to briefly look into John’s furious brown eyes that could sometimes, in the darkest of light, look pitch black. In that moment Dean did not care what his father thought. Or even what he would do. He pushed John’s hand away and sprinted up the stairs to his brother._

_Sam jumped at Dean’s sudden presence in the bedroom and dropped one of his bags that he had been carrying. The older boy knelt down and picked up the battered up gym bag that had housed all of Sam's schoolbooks and old assignments only days ago._

_“So you were all packed and ready to go then?” Chuckled Dean sadly, looking down into the contents of the bag and spotting Sam’s various books and his oversized shoes._

_“Dean… You’ve got to have known this was coming.” Sam replied in an almost apologetic tone, the words where tinged with pity and he couldn’t stand it._

_“Maybe I did, but why does it have to be this way Sammy? How can you just leave?”_

_“I don’t have to leave alone.” Said Sam quietly, “You can get out too.”_

_Dean sighed, but to his brother’s ears it sounded like a sob, “I-I can’t Sam. I can’t just- just leave him here alo-“_

_“Why the hell not?” Interjected Sam viciously, “Why do you make everyone your responsibility, can’t you think for yourself for once? Just once!?”_

_He shook his head slowly, dismissing the question. Dean handed the bag back to the younger boy, who’s eyes where shining with angry tears, “I get it Sammy, I do. And I’m sorry.”_

_“Dean…” Croaked Sam, trying to put in all his apologies, fear and need into that one word that he'd repeated endlessly since he had learnt it._

_Dean gave his little brother a watery smile and headed back down the stairs. Without a word Sam followed him, like he had done all his life. It scared him like he couldn’t believe to think that soon he would be the one walking away for once._

_Their father had returned to the table, eyes scanning his journal like he was looking for a clue as to why his son was acting this way. But he would find no lore on that child. More’s the pity._

_He made no move to look at Sam or acknowledge him as he headed for the door. John didn’t turn his head at the sound of bags being dropped in order for the 18 year old to clutch onto his brother in goodbye._

_But at the sound of the door opening he left his youngest son with a few parting words._

  


_“If you’re gone… Stay gone. Don’t you ever come back.”_

  


_There was a few seconds of dead silence where he was sure Sam would come storming back in to finish the argument… But the door slammed shut with a deafening finality._

 _About three minutes later, after what happened had registered with both the remaining Winchesters, John flipped over the pine table in a fit of rage- cussing, screaming and cursing Sam’s name._

_Dean ran back upstairs without a second thought, dragged the wardrobe from the bedroom and barricaded the door with it. Finally he bolted his ( ~~and Sam’s~~ ) room shut and slowly slid down the wall to the floor, feeling completely numb and empty._

  


_He wasn’t taking any chances this time._

_It wouldn’t happen tonight. He wouldn’t let it._

  


_Not after that._

  


  


  


The laughter reverberated through clearing, creating a chorus that sounded like rabid hyenas. The older man rolled on to his side groaning and giggling whilst his younger brother tried to pull him back up and back to sanity.

“Dean! Dean you’re scaring the hell out of me man, stop it!” Sam cried desperately, Dean was hiding his face in the dirt, squirming away from him. His cackles were dying down now but Sam could feel him quivering slightly. Finally he got a hold on his older brother, dragged him back upright and propped him up against a tree on the edge of the clearing.

The night was ebbing away and dawn was upon them, the dim light started to throw focus on things Sam hadn’t noticed before. Dean’s clothes were caked in mud and he was soaked through. The green eyes that now looked sunken into his face seemed to be completely vacant and unseeing, as if he was somewhere else. Sam clicked his fingers in front of his face and Dean flinched badly.

“Sorry,” Said Sam softly, feeling guilty, “You okay now? You- You got it out of your system, whatever that was?” 

Dean shifted slightly and slowly glanced at his brother then let his vision slide out of focus again, “You should have locked me up in that hospital with Martin.” He mumbled.

“Stop talking like that,” Replied Sam pleadingly, “Listen, you have got to pull it together-“ Another bark of laughter cut him off…

“Pull it together?” Spluttered Dean, “You’re the one who opened this can of worms and now _I’m_ the one who has to pull it together?”

“I just meant-“

“No you do this every time! You tear through everything and leave me to deal with the fallout! Why don’t you just go Sammy, you won’t go and you leave me waiting for the next time… You leave me… just… w-waiting….” Dean’s rapid sharp breaths halted his words but he still seized hold of Sam’s jacket desperately.

“Woah, Dean...” Sam tilted his brother’s head up, “I’m not going anywhere just calm down, breathe for me come on-“ 

Sam inhaled and exhaled deeply with him to try help Dean regain control.

Finally he evened out again. 

The younger hunter decided it would be best not to speak. Instead he simply sat down upon the damp earth on his brother’s left side and placed his hand next to Dean’s, so that their arms were touching from shoulder to fingertip- completely parallel to each other, forming a physical link. It was a subtle link that Sam hoped would be noticed and would provide comfort and reassurance, but not be too intimidating as he really didn’t know how Dean would react to anything more touchy-feely at this moment.

“I just meant, when you were gone. It got worse- it always did.” Dean forced out eventually, “Even after he di-… he died I thought, you’ll still leave. Because I always lost you. It was my fault every time.” 

Sam’s right hand clenched into a fist in anger, he had to fight to bite down a protest but he did. He had to let Dean ride this out. 

“But when you left for Stanford you offered me a way out Sammy. I didn’t take it because I couldn’t, but you asked. That gave me something to hold on to. I ran upstairs that night and barricaded myself in, he never let me forget that. Threw it in my face every other chance he got, said I was a coward for it but you know what?” Dean turned his head to look at Sam and genuinely grinned at him, “I sat there on the floor whilst he threw hit after hits that were meant for me at the door and I... I laughed. Just like now. I laughed till I was sick.”

Tears leaked down Sam’s face freely. He jumped as he felt Dean’s arm leave his side and watched it rise to Sam’s face in order to let his thumb gently wipe the tears away. Sam had to stop himself from letting out a sob of laughter at that, even after all that had transpired between them Dean still couldn’t help but take away his little brother’s tears, like he had being doing since he was 4 years old.

“I just want you to know Sammy, that I never blamed Dad.” Sam opened his mouth to automatically object to that statement but Dean held up a hand to stop him, “Our real Dad died alongside our Mother. He changed into something else that I was absolutely terrified of… But I still saw glimpses of the old him occasionally, I know you did too- even if you can’t remember him from that time. That’s why I stayed. That’s why I looked after him despite everything…”

  


 

“Because sometimes it’s hard to see where the monsters end and the humans begin.”

 

  


  


* * * *

 

  


  


Sam and Dean sat in the clearing together watching the sunrise for some time. The eldest felt completely broken apart, unsure of how he was supposed to precede when every way he turned he was met with roadblocks. Little by little his options where running out and all his choices seemed to lead him to the same thing. He thought about Michael and the irony of him appearing in his father’s body, telling Dean he was a loyal son like himself. He heard Joshua’s words echoing in his head, voicing out loud what Dean already knew, that he was losing faith in everything, even in Sam. But louder than anything else, through the haze and the fog of his mind, he heard his brother’s voice come from right beside him, telling him like always that they should head back to the Impala. That they should head _home_.

They dragged each other up and set off back through the Forest in their damp clothes, leaving Dean’s shoe behind and abandoned on the mud-covered ground. Very slowly they weaved through unyielding trees, they could have moved quicker if they separated, but the brothers never left each other’s side. 

  


Gradually Dean began to notice the increase of birdsong in the area and tapped Sam’s shoulder to stop him. 

  


“What’s that sound?” He asked as he peered around.

  


“You mean the... the birds?” Sam questioned, and he nodded in reply.

  


“That’s the Dawn Chorus, Dean.”

  


“Huh.”

  


He saw a glint of glossy black through the thinning trees...

  


  


“It’s beautiful.”

  


  


 

  


* * * * * * *

 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for making it through this fic! It's been a ride :') 
> 
> **Ramble about time-scale:** So it's widely disputed about when Sam left for Stanford (I would really like to see it in an episode, more flashback episodes please!) apparently Sam was originally supposed to be 20 years old in the pilot but they aged him up to 22 and didn't change the script- this fits in with the fact that in a later episode, _Hook Man_ , Dean asks Sam if this how he spent 4 years of his life. All of this considered, to me he was 18. And I assume they where staying in the house shown really briefly in heaven by the roadside where they realise this was the night _"...you ditched us for Stanford."_. I don't know where it was though and seen as though I always like to keep them near to Bobby and Pastor Jim I just picked a random place near there.
> 
>  **More trivia:** John's name on the card is Doug Clifford, Creedence Clearwater Revival's drummer.  
>  As I've stated before, I'm unsure of how John treated the boys and I like writing from both perspectives. I've got to admit evil John is hard to write just because I hate putting Dean through, basically everything I've put him through!


End file.
